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Back The Chalet Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for The Chalet
  3. Dedication
  4. PART ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. PART TWO
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. PART THREE
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. Epilogue
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. Keep Reading …
  73. Prologue
  74. About the Author
  75. About the Publisher

Andy gives me a strange look. ‘Yeah. I will. It’s dangerous for them out there on their own in these conditions. Let’s get going.’

Back on the lift, it is even colder and windier than before. I pull my scarf tighter around my neck and dig my chin into the top of my jacket. I peer downwards through the blizzard in case the clients have somehow made it back on to the piste – it’s possible from the couloir, though only really if you know the way – but I can barely see a thing. Even the piste appears to be deserted – anyone sensible has already called it a day.

The lift shudders to a halt about halfway up, leaving us swinging as the wind continues to roar around us. We sit in silence, huddled into our jackets, faces down against the wind. After a few minutes which pass more like hours, there is a squeal and the lift starts moving again. Thank God. ‘Can’t wait to get off this mountain,’ Andy says. ‘It’s freezing. God knows why these poor saps come out in this weather.’

The chairlift stops again just as the lift station comes into sight. Someone has fallen over getting off and is for some reason taking forever to get themselves back upright, despite the lift guy hauling them up. There’s something purple in the snow by their feet – a hat or scarf. I watch as they bend to pick it up and drop their pole.

‘Hurry up!’ I mutter, through clenched teeth. My fingers hurt, they’re dug so far into my hands now. Andy looks at me sideways and says: ‘It’ll be OK. You need to calm down.’

‘I am calm!’ I snap, but I’m lying. I’m not. The lift finally starts moving again and we slide off onto the snow.

‘OK – I’ll take the left side, you take the right,’ I say. ‘We need to go down really slowly. Both of us,’ I emphasize. I feel like I’m going to be sick. The trail is narrow and what I want to say is, ‘We need to check over the edges too,’ but I can’t quite bring myself to. The weather is still closing in and it’s going to be impossible to see anything anyway. Andy nods solemnly. My unspoken words are hanging in the air.

I feel worse and worse as we ski down in near silence. I try to peer over the edges but it’s impossible. We call out periodically – ‘Hey! You there? You OK?’ but I can tell it’s pointless – I can’t even hear myself over the wind. We get to the bottom and look at each other.

I am so cold and stressed I can barely get my words out. ‘What do we do now?’

4

January 2020, La Madière, France

Ria